


The Best Kind of Trouble

by Michi27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Manly Man Who's Comfortable Wearing Women's Underwear and Women's Boots, Anal Sex, At the Holy Church of Dean's Asshole, Because boots are super sexy let's be honest, Boot Worship, Cas is just obsessed with boots, Daisy Dukes, Dean likes boots too, Destiel - Freeform, Gay Sex, I should mention that, Kitchen Sex, Less safe, M/M, Manhandling, Not creepy or gross fetish though, Oh god, Ok I'm'a post this clusterfuck, Olive Oil as Lube, Panties, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sometimes he wears women's boots, Sort Of, Use Lube Kiddos, Yes that's in there too, also safe, because he looks darn good in them, boot fetish, but relevant, misuse of olive oil, more like Dean Winchester in boots worship, that's fairly safe, where to start, yes I went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27/pseuds/Michi27
Summary: Under such circumstances, you couldn’t really blame him at all when, after a supper he hardly tasted across from a wet dream in shorts and knee-highs who didn’t stop flashing that unbearable grin at him throughout supper, that he came white on his tiled shower walls, chanting Dean’s name into his elbow.Castiel has a bit of a fetish... Boots... Or really, meninboots, and especially his new neighbor Dean Winchester who's not shy about wearing any and every type of boot Castiel has ever fetishized and looking disgustingly gorgeous and confident while doing it.





	The Best Kind of Trouble

All it took was one introduction with Castiel’s new neighbor to know he was in terrible trouble.

It was a week after “Dean” moved in. Late winter, but snow still covered the lawns, ice shined in six inch spikes from porches, and Dean Winchester was wearing a canine smile, red flannel, dark jeans, and…

Boots.

Big. Black. Leather. Army boots. Cinched up from toe to calf with black laces, fitting to his shins like a second skin.

Cas was mortified to say he was sporting a semi after one glance.

The greeting, the introductions, the passing of homemade lasagna through doorway, and the turning down of the offer to come in were torture. By the time Castiel got back to his house, he fell against his door and squeezed his hardening dick through his slacks with a groan. 

Yes, see, Cas… has a fetish. A ridiculous, bizarre, unholy, unconquerable _fetish_.

Boots. Any kind, any size. Thick heeled, high heeled, thigh-high, or fuck him, even booties. Especially when they’re made of leather. Especially when they creak with every movement or there were buckles or straps or--

And especially when the vision of Dean Winchester filled his head in nothing but them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was _not_ going to jerk off to his brand new, already-too-charming, boot-wearing neighbor, damnit!

To be fair to Castiel usually he had better control over his… tastes, but Dean was… Dean was some kind of something that flipped a switch in Castiel’s head. Or possibly in his libido.

He never claimed to be a strong man.

He lasted all of five days walking past Dean Winchester wearing boots, grinning, and waving at him before coming onto his own stomach with a fist in his mouth and Dean’s name whined from his lips.

And he felt horrible afterwards. Gross. Creepy. Dean was a good man. A kind man. A vision of masculinity. Easy smiles, and easier laughs, and he probably wasn’t even gay, and Cas had fetishized his clothing and fucked his own fist imagining him moaning beneath him. He knew in his head none of that was acceptable behaviour and determined to never do it again.

This time, he lasted a month. A month of melting ice, warming air, growing grass, and pink-centered sunsets. A month of dragging his eyes up from the new, light brown ankle high, rubber boots Dean was wearing and return his greeting. A month of catching himself lost in thought as he stared out the northern facing window of his house every day at 7:30 exactly when Dean walked from his house to his truck wearing pants that fell over the worn and soft work boots he was wearing. That bent with every graceful movement of Dean’s delicious bow legs. A month of berating himself and trying not to let on with his blushes every time Dean waved from his side of the small, white, picket fence with his booted feet propped up on his lawn table, a book in his hand when Castiel came home from work.

A month of picturing doing things _to_ Dean and _with_ Dean every time his thoughts got away with him and hiding more than one awkward boner in public.

On May 7th, the warmest day yet so far this year, 6:40 PM, a Sunday when Castiel was off, just picking through his fridge, trying to decide which leftovers he was willing to eat, there was a knock on his door. And who should be on the other side but Dean Winchester. In a t-shirt.

And shorts.

And knee high, scruffy, soft, skin-hugging denim gray _boots_. With a wedge heel and a seam down each side. They looked like they were made for women, but they fit Dean like he was born to wear them, one knee cocked to the side, casual as anything, like he just happened to be wearing these as he cooked his own supper in his own kitchen and then came over here to… to…

Wait, why had he come over?

“Hey, Cas.”

He doesn’t know how he didn’t die from mortification when he realized he’d been staring. 

“D-D-Dean! Wh-What are you… doing… here?”

Mark in your calendar the first moment Castiel had an inkling Dean wasn’t as straight as he thought he was.

A glint lit up his evergreen eyes, and he smiled so smooth and easy and _knowing_ , Castiel thought he might just throw himself off the nearest cliff. 

“So, I was makin’ this lemon pepper chicken with steamed rice ‘n veggies, thinkin’ my brother was coming over. Unfortunately, he got wrangled into another shift at the hospital, so now I got all this food that’s gonna go to waste unless somebody eats it…” His charming southern drawl trailed off.

“... Oh,” Castiel said, a shining example of linguistic mastery. But his mind was still in equal parts massive arousal and earth-shattering embarrassment, a litany of _don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down_ , chanting in his head, eyes watering--probably twitching like a cartoon character’s--not blinking, not even glancing away for fear of what they would do. 

“So, I was thinkin’ maybe you could come over and eat with me.”

There was a cricket. A chirping somewhere.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Castiel was usually more articulate, he promises. “I really shouldn’t,” he tried. “I have to do… something,” he attempted. “Tomorrow there’s a… thing,” he stuttered.

Dean’s smile dropped, plush lips forming a pout. “Oh… really?”

The clock above Castiel’s front door ticked the seconds with a gentle _tock-tock-tock._

A whole five of them went by before Castiel crumbled. “No, not really. I mean--! Yes, but I can--cancel or, you know, call in. It’ll be fine. I would love to eat you.”

That lemon pepper chicken could’ve cooked itself on Castiel’s face right about then. 

“EAT YOUR FOOD,” he corrected. “I WOULD LOVE TO EAT YOUR FOOD. LET ME GRAB MY--THING--EXCUSE ME JUST ONE MOMENT.”

Under such circumstances, you couldn’t really blame him at all when, after a supper he hardly tasted across from a wet dream in shorts and knee-highs who didn’t stop flashing that unbearable grin at him throughout supper, that he came white on his tiled shower walls, chanting Dean’s name into his elbow.

After that, he was absolutely _certain_ Dean was teasing him on purpose. Walking past his house as often as possible when Castiel was sitting on his porch. Gardening in his already immaculate small vegetable patch and front landscaping, ass raised high and framed in blue jean as he reached for the tiny little weed under his favorite bush, sitting on his steps with his legs spread and cowboy boots planted on the earth, a glass of lemonade in hand.

And Cas never abused his right hand so much in his life, even when he was a teenager discovering fetish porn, god help him.

But even with all of this and every flirtatious wink Dean threw his way, it didn’t come to a head until about two months later when the shelf in Castiel’s cupboard broke, a handful of dishes crashing to the floor before he stopped their precarious descent and stacked them on the counter instead. He swept and mopped up, but when it came to the shelf, he settled his hands on his hips and eyed it distrustfully. 

If Castiel was meant to be “handy” … Well, he wasn’t sure he knew which end of the “pliers” was the functional one, and that was putting it gently. 

And it just so happened he had a professional handyman living… right next door.

… So of course he spent hours over nearly two weeks trying to fix it himself (and failing spectacularly) before he stiffly crossed to the blue-shuttered house next door and raised his fist before the dark brown door. 

… And stood.

And sweated.

Because it was hot outside. Only because it was hot outside. That was--that was _all_.

Somehow in all the time he’d known Dean, while Cas had been in Dean’s house more than a dozen times, Dean had never been in Castiel’s. That was at least _partially_ by design. It was one thing being in someone _else’s_ home fighting off an erection, but it was another matter entirely to have Dean in _his_ territory, sitting in _his_ house, looking at him under those unfairly thick lashes, boots clumping on _Cas’_ hard wood.

He just… No. Nope, nuh-uh. This was a terrible idea. An awful, horrible, _terrible_ idea. Besides, this was Saturday, and Dean usually had plans on Saturday anyway. Nope, yes, no, he should definitely, _definitely_ not bother him. Decided, he made to turn around, half way there, foot already raised to take the step--when the door swung open and a startled Dean stood before him. 

“Cas!” he said in surprise. “I was just about to go and see if you wanted to come over later for supper, ‘cause I somehow bought too much food _again_.”

This was a game they’d been playing. Ever since that first meal. Dean tells him he bought or made too much food. Cas does him the favor of eating it. In Dean’s house. Across the table from him or sitting on the couch with Doctor Sexy on. Trying to keep his eyes trained on his plate or the tv and not on the man sprawled next him wearing soft, wedge-heeled burgundy suede boots he absolutely _never_ visualized on his shoulders with Dean’s ass spread open for him, his cock right there as he bounced and moaned and begged and--

It was the only way Cas would accept the invitation. Or at least that’s what he told himself, but he was fairly sure he would crumble before that smile and those eyelashes no matter what (he still hasn’t managed to build up any sort of resistance). But Dean takes mercy on him and frames eating supper in his house as a favor Castiel can do for him every time.

“Oh! I was... I was just, ummmmmm….” Castiel blinked, eyes widening at the cut off jean shorts Dean was wearing, barely more than daisy dukes, a light, soft looking airy sleeveless white-tan-brown flannel tucked into them. And of course, as always, boots. Beautiful, shin high, dark brown, soft looking _leather_ ones. With a zipper on the inside and three belts cinched cross the top. The hint of a soft velvety in-lining. Thick sole, wedged heel. 

Oh god, Cas wanted to worship them.

So he absolutely _could not_ let Dean into his house. Not while he was wearing all of… all of _that_! No, he had to talk his way out of this, he had to come up with an excuse immediately. Letting him in was not an option. Abort, abort, abort!

“The shelf in my cupboard broke, I can’t seem to fix it, and I was wondering if I could ask you the favor of helping in return for lunch and my undying gratitude.”

…. Shit!

Dean’s eyebrows went up, a grin breaking across his face that was not unlike the sun coming out on cloudy day. “Your undying gratitude, huh?” His dastardly green eyes raked him from head to foot. “No problem at all, Cas. I’d be happy to help.”

And this was how it came to pass that Dean Winchester is currently in Castiel’s kitchen.

He’d found the wood that Castiel had had cut, adjusted the size with a saw thingie and a sander, installed new brackets, and is now presently fitting the shelf in.

And possibly giving Castiel a heart attack. Oh god, let this be a heart attack.

This particular shelf is high, but Dean had refused the help of a ladder… so he had to _stretch_.

Which means… his arms are raised above his head as he works at finagling the uncooperative board into place, his bare shoulders rounding and _popping_ , just a hint of his trapezius straining under his skin. His body curves, sinful, hourglass shaped, to a waist that tucks _in_ and hips that flare _out_ , ass defined under the nearly illegally short shorts. Cas skirts his gaze down quickly, already knowing seeing his legs bowing, and boot-covered feet _lifted up_ on tip-toes is not going to help. Still, he goes. Because he has to. Because Dean is in his kitchen, bare arms and barer legs and _boots_ on display, and as he stated, he never claimed to be a strong man.

He groans, watching the way the toes of Dean’s feet point slightly inwards, innocent-like, even as they rock and jostle with Dean’s movements. Making it seem for all the world like he’s being fucked. Fucked _up_ on his tippy toes, with the soft leather creaking as he grunts softly.

It’s currently taking _all_ of Castiel’s willpower not to cross the room and slot himself in the crack of his ass, wrap his arms around his stomach and _rut_ until he creams his own pants.

His lip worries between his teeth. Sweat dampens his forehead and neck, even with the AC cranked up almost uncomfortably. The hard-on he’s sporting simply _will not_ go away, no matter how much he tries to think of old ladies and their ugly hats. 

Dean Winchester is every wet dream he’s ever had and a few he hadn’t even realized he wants. 

And he’s keeping himself away. _Why_ is he keeping himself away?

(This was how _thin_ his control was, can you see? Hanging on by the barest _thread_.)

It is this moment, lip between his teeth, control _ebbing_ , that Dean Winchester stretches a little higher, his shirt comes untucked, and there’s a flash… peak of color, a hint of… dark pink and satin and….

_Panties._

Dean Winchester is…

His neighbor Dean, who builds houses and fixes broken shelves and wears ripped t-shirts and jeans and daisy dukes and every kind of boot Castiel has ever drooled over is wearing--

Is he wrong? Had he imagined it? 

Oh god, he has to know.

(Can you hear it? The _snap_. Beautiful, isn’t it.)

He has Dean pressed up against the counter in five seconds flat, glued to his back, palming up his stomach, lips on his neck before he even gives himself the chance to consider what he’s letting himself _do_. “Oh, Dean Winchester, you tempt me.”

Dean shivers under his touch, leaving the shelf catty-corner in the cupboard, and stretches his neck for Castiel, moaning, “Oh fuck, _finally_.”

“You wanted this,” Castiel breathes, suddenly knowing without a doubt, knowing before Dean even speaks.

“God, yes! I’ve only been practically _begging_ for it for months, Cas. You drive me _crazy_. Your sexy hair and your sexy eyes and your voice, and the way you _look_ at me--” Cas bites his earlobe. “ _Nnngh_ \--yes, yes-- like you wanna eat me alive and fuck me _raw._ ” With a hand on Dean’s stomach, Cas _jerks_ him back against his swollen cock, listening to Dean moan, hands dropping to the counter, boots scrabbling on the tile, already sounding like a horny fucked out _mess_ before they’ve even _started_. “The fucking _fetish_ you have for my boots,” Dean gasps and whimpers under Cas’ hands, under Cas’ teeth.

“You knew?” Cas whispers, flushing in spite of himself, hiding his face in Dean’s neck when Dean chuckles at him.

“You were practically _drooling_ every time you saw me wearin’ some, no matter what kind they were. Did you really think I never noticed the semi you were constantly sporting around me?”

“I don’t know. I… hoped not. I was embarrassed.”

“Oh god, Cas, don’t be,” Dean says, grinding back on Cas’ cock when he stops moving. “I always liked wearin’ ‘em. Made me feel capable and sexy and badass. But you just… You made it so much _better_. Hotter. You never looked at me like I was anything but beautiful whether I was wearin’ grungy, muddy work boots, or knee high ladies lace-ups, and I fuckin’ em>love it.”

Cas grins into his neck, kisses up and down the skin, thinking, _that’s because you are,_ and bites down on Dean’s shoulder, his hand sliding down his stomach to the hardening cock tenting his shorts. He moans into Dean’s skin, saying only, “I can’t believe you like how much I… like it.”

“Fuck, Cas. _Yes_. The number-number of times I jerked off imaging you fucking me in nothing but boots--” Vision whitening, Cas spins Dean around before he can finish and captures his lips. One hand on Dean’s jaw, the other curled in the softest, thinnest, plaid flannel at his side, he kisses him like he’s been wanting to for _months_ , something swelling up in his chest so big and so much and so fast he feels like he’s going to _burst_.

Kissing Dean, he’s never felt so liberated in his _life_. A weight lifted from his shoulders, a breath of air that smells like Dean and freedom and _hunger_. He can have this. He can actually… 

Dean folds under him like he’s just been waiting for Cas to kiss him, wanting him to for so long. He winds his arms around his neck and opens his mouth with a sound like a kitten’s mewl when Cas pushes in. Twines their tongues together. Slots himself between Dean’s spread legs and shakes at the feeling of their cocks sliding together. Slipping his hands beneath Dean’s shirt, he lifts it off him and throws it to the floor, barely taking a breath before taking Dean’s lips again, hands on _skin_ this time. On Dean Winchester’s _skin_.

Dean in his kitchen. Dean wearing nothing but shorts and boots and--

The daisy dukes are too tight for Cas to get his hands in, but he slides his fingers past the waistband and feels satiny soft fabric on his fingertips. He sways on his feet. 

“Panties,” he breathes. “Fuck, you’re wearing--”

“Oh, shit,” Dean whispers, lashes fluttering as he blinks his eyes like he’s trying to clear his blurred vision, a blush painting his cheeks. “I-I-I forgot. They’re just--I just like to wear them--sometimes. I can take them off--come back--if you--”

“No,” Cas growls, grinding against Dean’s cock, almost fainting from how fast the blood _rushes_ to his south. “Don’t take them off.” He gets his hands on the backs of Dean’s thighs, picks him up, drops him on the counter in one rough motion, and crowds in between his legs. “I want to _see_ them,” he breathes, hands going to the button and zipper on his shorts. He pulls them open with fingers that tremble as he gets a look at the dark pink underneath. At Dean’s _cock_ , hard, straining inside them, tip reddened and poking out at the top.

There’s a little white bow adorning the top of the underwear, just underneath the head of Dean’s cock, like a ribbon on a package just for him. “ _Dean_.”

If one word could contain all the heat in Castiel’s veins, all the desire and earth-quaking arousal, all the awe and wonder and _want_ he’s feeling right now, that would be it.

“Fuck… Fuck, Cas…” Dean looks at him with blotchy cheeks, lips saliva-slick and so red they almost look like their smeared in lipstick, eyes swollen with black, and amazement all over his face. “How can you be this perfect?”

Cas doesn’t bother answering such a question when he’s so hungry. So _thirsty_. He dives in with pure _glee_. Lips going to Dean’s stomach first, with open-mouthed kisses, bites, and sucks that leave little red marks behind. Hands on Dean’s creamy tan thighs, just below his daisy dukes, just above his knees hanging off the counter with his toes pointed down and the leather straining. His mouth moves downwards until he can wrap his lips around the peaking cock in Dean’s panties and lick up the salty, oily taste of Dean sputtering from its tip with a quiet moan.

“Oh fuck, Cas!” Dean rocks his hips, his cock weighty and large as is pushes up into his pallete as Dean braces his hands back on the counter and digs his knees in to Castiel’s sides, wrapping his legs _so tight_ around him the heels of his boots dig in to Castiel’s back. And oh _fuck_. Dean’s legs and Dean’s boots digging in. If he wasn’t faceplanted on Dean’s cock right now, he would collapse.

Dragging his face up, he buries his hands in Dean’s hair and pulls him in for a filthy kiss, full of all the desperation he’s currently feeling. Dean makes a sound at the taste of himself on Cas’ lips and tugs Castiel’s shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor and leaving him bare-chested.

With a moan, Cas puts his hands on Dean’s hips and mouths back down to the pink panties, lathing over Dean’s cock through the slick material with his tongue and lips as far as can go until making an irritable sound at the shorts blocking his descent. He tugs on them, opening them up as far as they can go, but it’s not enough, not enough of _Dean_ , Dean’s thighs and Dean’s soft panties and Dean’s hard cock inside them.

Sliding his hands under Dean’s ass with a growl, he picks him up and lays him out on the round wooden kitchen table instead, knocking a chair over and getting his hands in the waistband of Dean’s dukes. It takes some work to get them over his boots, but when he does, he throws them on the floor, and Dean’s legs sprawl open for him.

Lips kiss swollen, chest heaving, hickeys decorating his stomach, the pink head of a cock over splotchy-saliva slickened magenta panties, hairless legs spread wide, falling off the table at the knees, and… leather, strapped, _boots_.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” Castiel breathes. He crowds in close between Dean’s legs, settling his hands on the table to either side of his hips and just… _looks_ at him, getting a flicker of Dean’s white teeth and canines as a grin spreads on his face. 

“Gee, Cas, keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll let you choose which panties you want me wearin’ next time.” He pauses, a sly look crossing his expression. “Or would you rather choose which boots to fuck me in?”

Groaning, Cas’ mind flashes back to the numerous pairs he’s seen Dean wearing the last few months and doesn’t even know where to start. He wants Dean in all of them. Every one of them. He wants to suck Dean off when he’s wearing muddy work boots, or rut in soft hazel suede, he wants Dean to straddle him wearing those denim gray knee highs, and he wants to fuck him against a wall in heels. A hundred different boots and a hundred different positions before starting all over again. 

“ _Dean_ ,” he rasps. “All of them. I want you in all of them.”

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean murmurs, that look of wonder on his face again. “Come ‘ere.” 

Dean’s fingers slide into his hair right as their lips meet, soft, but just intent enough to draw quiet sounds from the both of them, exploring each other’s mouths and pressing into each other’s bodies. When he’s kissed him so much he’s aching from it, Castiel mouths down his neck, pays careful attention to his beading nipples, and then lifts Dean’s thighs, pushing them back so Dean’s boot-clad feet point--the leather bending _beautifully_ \--and his cock and panties-covered ass open up to him. He mouths over the fabric, tongueing his taint and pushing the fabric between his ass cheeks. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean gasps, grabbing his own legs under the knees and spreads himself open for him. With a quiet murmur of awe, Cas tugs his panties aside to peer at the perfect pink hole underneath. It’s puckered tight looks so beautifully smooth and hairless, he sucks in a breath and prods the skin with his fingertips. “So _smooth_.” Not a tickle of a single hair touches his fingers as he slides them from Dean’s taint to the puckered hole just waiting to be filled by _Cas_. “So perfect.” He presses closer, breathing in the musky sent of Dean and licks a stripe from one end to the other, then flicks his tongue directly at the tightly clenched circle of muscle he’s going to be fitting his cock into. He pulls back and spits, taking just a second to admire the way he _glistens_ , before pressing in with lips and tongue and working Dean open with saliva, Dean making wanton sounds so loud, Castiel wonders if any passersby can hear from the open window in the living room.

A sense of possessiveness rushes through him at the thought of his neighbors hearing the sounds Cas is working from Dean with his fingers and mouth and later, his cock. After all these months, he’s got Dean spread out on _his_ table. Making Dean whine and gasp, thrash, and swear, and plead, and call out _his_ name. Cas is the one. Cas. Sounds wrenched from Dean by Cas’ tongue and Cas’ lips, and the saliva slick finger he presses inside. Cas is the one drawing these sounds from Dean like nobody else could, or will ever again if he has anything to say about it.

“Oh FUCK, Cas, _fuck_! I need you inside me. Come on, baby, _fuck me_!”

Chin dripping with spit, hazy with desire, Cas looks up as Dean tugs at his own hair. “Lube. I-I need--” Damn, the bottle is all the way in his bedroom, in the drawer right beside his bed. “It’s in the bedroom,” he says with a frown. Both of them look around, like a bottle will spontaneously appear for them through sheer force of willpower alone.

“Olive oil,” Dean gasps a grins growing on his face, his cheeks flushed, jerking his chin at the large bottle on the counter. “Fuck me with olive oil, Cas.”

He looks at the bottle sitting nearly within reaching distance and then back at Dean uncertainly. He’s never fucked anyone with anything other than lube, but the bedroom seems _miles_ away. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, grinning. “Ruin my panties, Cas.”

Castiel has never retrieved a bottle or slicked his fingers up faster. In the span of ten seconds, he has two fingers pushing oily slick inside of Dean, his panties tugged to one side as Dean moans like he’s fucking _aching_ for it, pushing down on his fingers immediately. “Yeah, yeah. _Fuck_ yeah, Cas, fuck me on your fingers.”

“I’m going to open you up nice and good Dean and then fuck you open on my cock,” he promises, plunging his fingers in Dean’s smoothness and wondering how how well the oil works.

Dean whines. “ _Please. Please._ ”

He spread his fingers wide and fucks them in deeper, feeling the muscles loosening while Dean writhes and gasps. “I want you to dig your beautiful leather heels in my back as I fuck you.”

“ _Hnnngggh,_ yes. Yes, Cas.”

Dean jerks when Cas finds his prostate, eyes widening, and with no small amount of satisfaction, Cas jabs that spot again, watching Dean’s legs and boots twitch with every touch. “I’m going to make you come all over yourself, Dean,” he murmurs, voice going breathy. “And then I’m going to come on your pretty pink panties, Dean. Ruin them for my cock. For _me._ ”

“Fuck, Cas, please! Please fuck me. I _need_ you,” he gasps, rocking down on his fingers as hard as he can.

Kissing a knee and pulling his greasy fingers free, he gives himself just one moment to put his hands on the leather and belts of his boot and kisses the toe of that too, breathing in the leather-scent and rumbling low in his chest, admiring the streaks he leaves behind from the oil on his fingers before taking Dean’s thighs and dragging him to the edge of the table. At the _perfect_ height for fucking.

He drops his pants with a sigh of relief, kicking them away and stroking up his aching cock with more olive oil. He pushes some in Dean’s hole to be on the safe side before carefully pulling his panties further aside and lining himself up.

For a second, he can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe he gets to have this. He can’t believe Dean Winchester is sprawled out for him on his kitchen table wearing nothing but soiled panties and _leather boots_ , wanting Cas’ cock as much as Cas wants to give it to him. Somehow in all his jerk off sessions, he never pictured anything quite like this.

It’s so much better.

With Dean’s bow legs wrapping around his waist, Castiel braces Dean with hands on his hips and pushes forward, slow, but unrelenting until his balls kiss Dean’s ass, and they both let out moans. Dean opened for him readily, but he’s still _so tight_ around him, it’s almost impossible not to fuck forward _immediately_. 

“Oh, Dean.”

“Cas, Cas, Cas.”

Dean’s hole flutters around him, relaxing slowly until he’s just slick, wet warmth and delicious constriction around him. With a jerk of Dean’s head, Cas slides out slowly, rumbling at the way Dean’s silken skin _drags_ at him, like it doesn’t want to let him go. And then pushes back in. Easing them into it slowly with a few gentle thrusts before starting to move a little faster.

He feels so damn good right now--so damn aroused--like he’s been _waiting_ for this ever since that first day on Dean’s front porch. Because he _has_. And now he has him, and he wants to make this last as _long_ as possible, but he doesn’t know if he can. Cas feels so good, because _Dean_ feels so good, looks so fucking sexy, he feels like a teenager again, ready to come in five minutes flat.

He’s not really there--not yet, but he’s already pushing down his orgasm, holding it at bay as Dean’s ass eats up his cock like it was made to fit him. To take him. To keep him warm and to keep Dean _full_.

“God, Cas, yes!” Dean gasps. “Perfect. Perfect--fuck, so perfect.”

He nails his prostate, and Dean calls out, voice cracking at the pleasure. “Right there! Fuck, _harder._ ” His panties tug and shift, straining over Dean’s engorged cock, the bow tilted sideways, the material jerking, shifting over his cock with every thrust into Dean’s body. It must feel amazing, the moist, silky material, slipping and sliding over his cock, pressed down into and straining.

Cas puts his hand to it, covering Dean’s cock and the satiny fabric with his and jerking Dean with the silk. “Oh fuck! Cas, yes! Harder,” he sobs, his voice going loud, and that possessiveness from earlier _curling_ in Castiel’s stomach. Anyone could hear him. Everyone could hear him. Calling out for _Cas_.

“Say my name,” he pants.

“Cas,” Dean gasps. “Castiel, Cas, Cas, Cas! Fuck, yes--Fuck me!” 

“That’s right,” Cas gasps, going a little delirious, a little crazy with how hot Dean is, how much he _wants_ him all for himself. “I fuck you so good. My cock, Dean.” His hips slam forward. “Mine.” Dean lets out a mewl.

“Y-Yes--you’re fucking cock, Cas. Inside me-- _oh!_ \--inside my ass. _Huh-huh-huh_ , makin’ me--makin’ me feel so damn good.”

With a growl, Cas pulls Dean’s legs from around him and props them up on his shoulders instead, dragging his ass to the very edge of the table, as Dean’s boots go around Cas’ neck, ankles locking, buckles digging into his skin as Dean pulls him forward. Dean bends in _half_ so Cas can kiss him. Dean’s head lifting off the table to meet him with a moan, the press of their lips worth _everything_.

Cas gasps, moans, kisses Dean, the scent of leather from his boots, salt and vanilla spice from Dean’s skin filling up nose.

He’s not going to last much longer.

He can’t get at Dean’s cock from here, but he presses his body into Dean’s as much as possible, fucking right into his prostate with every _jab_ of his cock, and Dean’s clenching, moaning against his lips. He’s _close_. “Come for me, Dean. Come on my cock.”

Like he was just waiting for _permission_ , Dean’s head slams back, his spine lifting off the table as white shoots from his jerking cock all over his own stomach and chest. The sight has Cas’ eyes going blurry, the clench making him whimper. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” he groans, in perfect time with his thrusts. Oh god, he’s so close.

_Right_ before he’s about to explode, he pulls out and wraps his fingers around his oily-slick cock, jerking himself those last two times he needs to come. He moans Dean’s name and shudders, coming white and hot all over the wet and sticky panties half covering Dean’s limp cock, and moaning again at the sight as Dean’s legs tighten around his waist. The hint of his asshole clenching on nothing as Dean covers his face and groans. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he breathes. “ _Cas_.”

Suddenly boneless, Cas plants his hands on the table, trying hard not to collapse on top of Dean and the cum covering him, a dollop half on one of the hickeys Cas left on his stomach. Licking his lips, he scoops it up on his tongue and presses his lips to Dean’s, who moans in response and opens his lips willingly, pressing a hand into his hair to better take the cum Cas is feeding into his mouth in the dirtiest kiss he’s ever been a part of.

“Shit,” Dean breathes after, licking his lips like hadn’t had enough. “You’re somethin’ else.” There’s awe in his voice. As well as a heavy dose of contented satisfaction, and pride swells in Castiel’s chest at the sound of it.

Lips tugging, he takes in the sight of Dean for a few long seconds and somewhat reluctantly offers, “Shower?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Dean breathes. “Just as soon as I get the strength to move.” Chuckling in empathy, Cas looks down at Dean with a smile. “And then I’m pretty sure you promised me lunch.”

“Mm,” Cas nods his agreement. “And you offered me supper.”

“Huh. How about that… I guess we’ll just have to spend the whole day together, won’t we?” Dean cracks open an eye with a smirk.

“We have to do what we have to do, I suppose,” Cas replies with a shrug, brushing a stray lock of Dean’s hair from his forehead.

“Speaking of things we have to do,” Dean begins, turning his head to one side. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

Raising a quizzical eyebrow, he answers, “No?”

“Well, now you do.”

“I do?”

“Mm,” Dean replies, smiling sleepily. “Well after you fuck me again tonight, you’re going to cuddle me until tomorrow, where you’ll cook me breakfast.”

Something goes tight and hot and soft in Castiel’s chest all at once so quickly he’s giddy. “Oh, am I?”

“Yup.” Dean nods. “And then you’re coming with me boot shopping. After which you’ll fuck me in whatever I buy.”

Fuck. If he could get it up again this fast he would be fucking Dean _now_. He pictures it, rows of boots, watching Dean try on pair after pair. Hiding the boner in his sweats. Barely talking as they drive home and slamming Dean against the door when they get there. Barely giving him the chance to switch shoes before he gets him laid out somewhere fucking him sore. Mm, oh. Yesss… 

In spite of the way his cock twitches valiantly, he teases, “That sounds like a great deal of fucking.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” Dean’s toothy grin comes out to play, and Castiel thinks he might just fall in love right then. “Well, we have a busy schedule ahead of us us then. Best get to it.”

After helping Dean to his feet and steadying him when he stumbles on his wedged heels, he can’t resist taking his chin gently and kissing him softly. Soundly. Deeply. Already knowing he’s in terrible trouble.


End file.
